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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23451325">What We Are</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/theroomstops/pseuds/theroomstops'>theroomstops</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Bodyguard (TV 2018)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/M, Julia Montague + French, Julia Montague Lives, Smut</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-04-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 14:22:25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,771</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23451325</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/theroomstops/pseuds/theroomstops</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“If you met a buddy on the street, I think you’d be fired if you introduced me as anything.” Julia smiles pointedly and he understands what she means, but it’s not the response he was looking for. Not at all.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>“Julia…” He says her name again, a little more frustrated now.</i>
</p><p>David wants to know exactly what their relationship is.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>David Budd/Julia Montague</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>154</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>What We Are</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/amickhawes/gifts">amickhawes</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Happy birthday to my fave medic, my gal J, my supportive hoe. I'm so proud of you being out there, taking care of people. This is... whatever, but I hope you enjoy it. Yes, I've put some smut in. You are welcome.</p><p>Thanks to Ally for the morale boost and editing help in pulling this together, and to Chloe for the French translation. Highly appreciated!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <i>April 2nd, 2019</i>
</p><p> </p><p>“What are we?” </p><p>David leans against his arm, watching carefully as Julia’s gaze lifts to meet his and then instantly flicks back to the massive book that’s been on her nightstand for the past two weeks. He actually tried to flick through it last week, to get a taste of what she liked, but smacked it shut quickly upon realizing it was in French. She speaks it fluently. Of course she does. That part of his early judgment was correct. Boarding school, summers spent abroad, friends all of similar background as herself. The antithesis of his own upbringing really. And he’d never gotten on with languages. His ear for language? Basically non-existent. Sometimes he barely made himself understood in his mother tongue, so why even try for something more complicated than that.</p><p>Though, with that being said, the way her lips will curl and press together gently as she sounds out parts of the text in soft spoken French, will make his stomach flop around and feel just as it did when the prettiest girl in secondary school had looked at him across the hall for the first time. So maybe he does like languages on <i>some</i> occasions. Rarely. Or only with her, really. Even though he assumes she’s directed m a few expletives in French his way, underneath her breath, every so often.</p><p>But he likes it, even then. </p><p>Her head is still buried in the book, and he gently calls her name to get her attention.</p><p>“Mmm.” She carefully places the worn bookmark between the pages and looks down at him. A soft, apologetic smile as she lays the book at her side. “I’m sorry, I was distracted.”</p><p>She rubs her face and removes the black frames, neatly folding them and leaving her glasses on the nightstand by her side of the bed.</p><p>They’re different. He likes to unwind by working out. Julia prefers reading. He’s already done what little he can in the confines of this room, and so he’s been stuck mindlessly watching an old rerun of Law and Order SVU in front of them. He knows the faces from when Vicky used to watch it. Back when they would sit and watch television without him arguing. Julia watches TV all day. Various news channels all repeating the same doom and gloom. Until she comes back there and transforms from Home Secretary Montague into his Julia. </p><p>She is sentimental in ways that he isn’t. The worn bookmark nestled between the pages in the book, for example. There’s a weak scribble that he spent half an hour studying the other night. He could just make out ‘Richard’. Her father’s name. The ring on her pinky was a gift from him too. She doesn’t talk much about her childhood, not in the way he does. But she carries it with her in every decision she makes. Twirling the ring when she’s unsure as if to get strength from whatever her late father’s memory. David treasures memories in different ways. Through a meal that brings back happy childhood memories, or the smell of bonfire evoking cherished memories of spending days camping in the mountains on his own. He had far more freedom as a young lad than his children have ever experienced. Julia doesn’t seem to have any such memories. At least she’s never shared them with him as he does with her.</p><p>Julia keeps mementoes. Bookmarks and rings and pens. A glass paperweight from the Godmother she was named after. But just as their selves may seem all too different, carved through entirely separate paths that never crossed nor looked even vaguely similar until that fateful day in October exactly six months ago, they share more underneath than reflects on the surface.</p><p>“This.... You and me. What is it to you?” </p><p>“It’s…” She seems to struggle for words. Shrugging timidly as she looks towards the bath in front of them, then at him. Timid isn’t usually a word he associates with Julia Montague. He can’t decide if she’s uncomfortable because she’s unsure or because she doesn’t want to have this conversation. “It’s us.”</p><p>“Aye. Alright.” He nods sharply. Pulling himself up so he’s sitting, his hands in his lap while she studies him quietly. He tries to keep his resolve. “But if I met someone I knew on the street and we were together, what would I introduce you as?”</p><p>“I think you’d be fired if you <i>introduced</i> me as anything.” Julia smiles pointedly and he understands what she means, but it’s not the response he was looking for. Not at all.</p><p>“Julia…” He says her name again, a little more frustrated now.</p><p>“David, I thought we were doing fine.”</p><p>“We are.” He fiddles with his hands. Decidedly unsure whether she’s even ready to have the conversation. Maybe it’s too soon. They’ve not discussed the particulars of their relationship much since they both came away unscathed from the blast at St. Matthews. They were both far too thankful to be alive and grateful for incompetent bomb builders. It could have been much, much worse. </p><p>They’d holed up in the hotel until the end of that week, under the half-pretense of doctor’s orders. Fucking and sleeping and eating without any other thought than getting through the day. Lounging in baths that turned freezing cold and drinking far too much wine. Tiredly and drunkenly crawling into bed together. That is how they survive now. Entangled under rumpled white sheets as the morning sneakily breaks through heavy curtains. Neither mentioning the blast. Only a silent acknowledgement that they needed more time first. More time to simply be. More time together. They’ve been stuck in a logistical limbo since. As if the world was patting them on the shoulder and indulging every carnal need.</p><p>“A little more than fine.” The corners of his mouth twist and turn as he tries not to smile.</p><p>“David? Did you want to ask something?”</p><p>“Go back to your book.” He grabs the TV remote, turning the volume up a bit and faking an interest in the screen in front of them.</p><p>“What,” She whispers as she climbs on top of him, taking the remote from his hand and muting the TV before she kisses him gently. “did you want to ask me?”</p><p>“Nothing.” Julia smirks, leaning in to press her lips against his. Tracing up his cheeks, kissing his face all over until he sighs loudly and looks at her with pretend frustration. “Geez, you tories are so fucking insistent on ruining everything.”</p><p>“David... Just ask me.” She bites her lip as she looks at him and he shakes his head. It feels silly. Childish even. He was annoyed with himself now for even starting the conversation. Should have just watched the fucking rerun quietly while she finished reading. Would have been much safer, much <i>better</i>, to keep it locked up in his mind until they were both ready.</p><p>
  <i>“Je sais ce que tu veux dire. Simplement demande-moi. Idiot.”</i>
</p><p>She takes in his hesitation, before kissing him again. More forcefully this time. Parting his lips with her tongue and rubbing against him as she begins their familiar dance. </p><p>Almost every night he’s walked across the threshold between her room and his. Breaking the rules. Breaking his vows. </p><p>
  <i>All for her.</i>
</p><p>She is the last person he’d ever expect to get into bed with, but whose room he’s slept in every night for the past six months. She, who makes him feel alive again and who has made the shithole that became his life feel a lot more bearable. Even... good, at times. Yes, there are times when he thinks the world isn’t all gray and dreary. He walks through that door and takes her to bed, and it would be fine if that’s all it was. They’d probably forgive him at the Met. Punish him, but forgive him and bury the information about their little affair if they were able.</p><p>
  <i>Except.</i>
</p><p>He does it when he has no intention of fucking her either. He goes to her just to talk. She’s become his first port of call when he’s stressed and her voice is the last thing he hears at night. He likes waking up with her next to him. When he sleeps, that is. But when he can’t, he likes dozing in and out to the sound of her breathing. He rests easier when he knows she’s safe right next to him.</p><p>But still… He enjoys the secrecy of it. Sometimes, he’s so hard by the time he steps across that threshold he worries he’ll be too rough and hurt her some day. She doesn’t seem to mind at all. She’ll egg him on a lot of the time. The sound of their intimate jokes playing in his mind as he remembers how much they got away with that day. How much they’ve laughed and loved in these rooms, despite the circumstances why they’re still there.</p><p>Except he’s begun to hate the secrecy too, lately. </p><p>He dreads the weekly calls from his mother, already long tired of the suggestions that he start dating again. He doesn’t want to date. No interest in forcing himself to meet someone he wouldn’t otherwise want to spend more than two minutes with. He hated dating for the brief time he tried it before he met his wife. Hated. And he’s already got someone he might like his mother to meet, except right now, he can’t even tell her she exists in a capacity beyond giving him orders (and definitely not that he likes it when her orders include taking all her clothes off as quickly as he can possibly do so). So he’s forced to just say nothing and listen to his mother list the reasons why he should join some awful dating app she’s probably only heard about in the news.</p><p>The closest he comes to a date these days is when he zones out at the restaurants he escorts Julia to and from. If he ignores the space between them and the fact that one of them isn’t eating and drinking wine. Because she’s at another table several feet away, and he wonders whether he could ever afford to take her somewhere that nice. He doesn’t even know if she’d want to be seen in public next to him.</p><p>She interrupts his mind wandering further by pulling his t-shirt over his head. Throwing it aside with a particularly shameless grin that announces the intention of her wandering hands like a big, bright neon sign. </p><p>He might love her in ways he thought he couldn’t love anyone other than his wife. He’s not sure, but being with her feels starkly familiar to whatever home is supposed to be. He used to spend every waking moment thinking of how to get through the day or how to get back in Vicky’s good graces. How to repent for the damage his pain had caused her. It has become more of an occasional thought during the day now than the fixation it used to be. He still loves his family, he truly does. There is an empty part in his heart when he’s not with his children. It aches and hurts and sometimes he tries to heal it by telling Julia about when they were all happy. But he’s unsure what he’d pick if presented with two choices – reuniting his family or being with her. Because with Julia lies a freedom that he’d underestimated his need for. </p><p>She doesn’t judge. Not that she ever gives an inch either. But there’s no judgment, no deep hurt underneath the way she asks how he feels. She just wants to know. There is a measured concern for him in the way she holds him responsible to himself, yet, no underlying accusation that he’s keeping things from her. She trusts now, that if he’s not forthcoming there are reasons, and it makes him want to tell her all the deep, painful things that rest in his psyche. By now, she knows far more about what’s happened to him than his wife, his mother or his therapist knows. He trusts the sanctity of the thick walls that surround them.</p><p>Julia moans as his mouth comes into contact with hers. A content breathy sound that makes his skin break out in tiny goosebumps. David bites her lower lip carefully, holding it between his teeth as he stares up at her above him. He holds her gaze as he releases her lip with a whimper. His hands find their way up under her camisole and Julia groans as he gently massages the tired muscles in her lower back.</p><p>She whispers something inaudible against his mouth and he takes the opportunity to swiftly flop her onto her back. Just as she catches her breath, she rolls over (because when can she ever just let him make the only move?) and tilts her head to look back at him alluringly. Her hands reach for the end of the bed and he burrows his knees into the blankets and sheets on either side of her hips, chewing on his lip in anticipation as he pushes the cool, silk material off her back.</p><p>He licks his lips, forming a slight curve with his tongue as he allows the elegant curve of her spine to guide him as he moves slowly up along her back. Pausing only when he gets to her shoulders. He leans down and whispers in her ear as his right hand flutters at her waist, and he feels her stretch against him because of the tickle. He buries his face in her neck, drawing in the familiar scent.</p><p>“You smell like my shower gel.” Usually she smells more like fig or peonies.</p><p>“Let’s hope the guards don’t notice that.” She giggles lightly.</p><p>“I like it when you smell like me.”</p><p>“I’ll have to run out of Jo Malone more often.” She sighs softly. Her head resting comfortably against her folded arms, eyes closed and breaths calm. He leaves a quick peck at her lips, then another when she smiles because of it.</p><p>He lies next to her, staring intently at the back of her head, twirling a curl around his finger before he closes his eyes. He would rather do nothing next to her than almost anything else. And his hands don’t shake as much now when he runs his finger through those immaculate curls. Not like they used to.</p><p>She’s up and disappears into the bathroom before he can say anything about it. He merely sighs before finding his old spot back against the headboard, it is getting late. She walks out again with a distinctive saunter and a mischievous smile. </p><p>He’s confused. </p><p>Her muted lips from before are suddenly a dark, berry red. The kind that left a permanent mark on one of his now retired white shirts.</p><p>“Take them off?” She points and flicks her finger in his direction.</p><p>“You’ve put lipstick on.”</p><p>“Aptly observed, Sergeant. Your white Calvin Kleins are very nice, but please take them off.” He scoffs a bit, and then laughs, confused and increasingly turned on. A little lost for words. She’s standing there in nothing but lace panties with her matching berry lips, no doubt ready to stare him down until he’s done her bidding. Though he supposes it means she’s definitely not upset at his bringing up their relationship and then leaving it unresolved.</p><p>His eyes can’t resist traveling up from the burgundy lace, drinking in milky white skin as he reaches the curve of her breasts. He licks his lips and smiles. He looks up at her, hoping to meet an exuberant grin and finds impatience. She repeats her request without ever veering from her tone of firm, hard determination.</p><p>Trying to remove tight white boxers while sitting down becomes a bit of a faff, and it’s not long before her impatient hands take over. Crouching and hovering so close to him, he can almost taste the freshly applied lipstick. He’s clueless to the point of it, but it’s hot and he’s growing hard so he wants to do nothing more than throw her on her back again and continue the slow dance he started before she walked away.</p><p>She smiles wickedly. Eyes widening and brows perched before she wraps one hand around the base of his cock and squeezes lightly. He feels a jolt begin to run through his body. Pleasant, all-consuming throbs as she leans down and replaces her hand with her mouth. Tongue wet and warm as he hardens while she slowly takes him in. </p><p>She’s good at this. </p><p>He’s never been too adventurous in the bedroom, that’s something he’s discovered in the freedom that comes with being with her. He’s grown aware of his body in a way that doesn’t involve panic and discomfort. And she seems to know exactly what he wants. Always seems to be aware of the right amount of pressure that’s enough to provoke him, without bringing them to an unsatisfying, early end. He closes his eyes and leans against the headboard while she runs her tongue around the bulbous tip of his cock until his brain feels like it’s burning. He takes a few breaths to pace himself, before he opens his eyes to find her staring back at him, before he follows her gaze down towards the erection flagged between them.</p><p>And then, it’s as if something in him snaps. The sight of a solid, berry red lip imprint around the base of his cock setting off a fire in his stomach that he has no way of controlling. She laughs as he frantically tugs at her underwear. He wants her legs wrapped around him <i>now</i>. Wants to fuck her until she’s no longer laughing and only capable of screaming his name. She nearly does. Squealing his name when he pushes her onto her back. Bites her lips triumphantly when he finally tears them off with ease and he spreads her legs. </p><p>And then, they stare at each other. </p><p>His chest pounding. Hers too. </p><p>Each of them silently daring the other and if it was any other night, if his cock wasn’t lovingly painted with a plump, berry colored ring, he’d tease her more. Make her come before burying himself inside of her and getting them both off. But he doesn’t have the patience left. </p><p>He wraps one arm around her back and tries not to break any ribs as he pulls her back up with him. She lands in his lap, achingly touching his cock with her thigh and it does nothing to tame the fire he feels, the intense yearning he has. It begs for her attention.</p><p>His hands wrap around her neck, gently pressing as he looks at her raptly. Fingers enclosed, but not hard enough to leave permanent marks. Breathing heavily as he stares into the hazel orbs that shine back at him. Her eyes have grown dark, full of desire and lust.  A finger glides along his jaw, briefly touching his bottom lip before she takes it between her own. Kissing him languidly, biting gently as he threads his fingers through her hair.</p><p>He doesn’t have to be scared to break her. He knows that deep down, even though it feels overwhelming at times. The rough parts that live in him, they’ve found a perfect mate in hers. He used to consider it all part of the <i>darkness</i>. He doesn’t anymore. Julia shone light there too. He’s not who he used to be, but that’s not all bad. She didn’t look the slightest bit worried when he pulled a little too hard before and she practically flew towards him. </p><p>She stares back in rapt anticipation, then looks down at his mouth and licks her lips. Ready to be taken in whatever way he intends to.</p><p>One hand slides into hers. Fingers gliding between Julia’s as he holds on tightly. Pulling her gently closer as he kisses her hard and then softer, until she moans and melts against him. She sits up, hard nipples brushing against his chest. Slickly sliding onto his cock and rocks against him in short, hard strokes. Letting him fill her completely as she pulls on his hair. Fingers wrapping themselves in short, slightly damp curls from earlier. She’s wrapped around him as close as she can possibly be, her body warm and supple against his. Another hand gliding across the small of her back and back along the legs tangled behind him.</p><p>Her nipples perch against him, and swirls his tongue around one before releasing it and dividing his attention equally between them before looking up at her with what he assumes is a grin like the Cheshire cat because her face breaks in a smile, along with a soft giggle. Her lips stroking the side of his neck as she laughs against it and he can’t help but join in.</p><p>Her nails scrape almost painfully against his back, holding on tightly as they rock together. Julia hisses as he flicks his thumb against her clit. Her lips find his and kiss him slowly. Over and over, until he’s panting and groaning her name while he hears the trills of his own, ringing in his ears.</p><p>He’s hot and sticky and happy when Julia smiles. Her eyes roll shut and her head lolls onto his shoulder, and his body feels heavy and slack as he leans against the headboard. Her breath tickles slightly against his skin as she takes calm, measured breaths while she comes off another high. Each time with her like this, feels like another step closer to a person he never thought he could be. </p><p>He kisses her gratefully as they tumble over. Tangled together as they find a spot face to face in the middle of the bed. Catching their breaths as they start to doze.</p><p>His skin has cooled down and his heartbeat is back to normal, when he finally breaks the comfortable silence. </p><p>“I like you more than I like anyone else.” He whispers. It’s the most truthful he’s been in a long time. They’ve lied a lot, both kept a lot of secrets in the past few months. But that, surprisingly, is the most starkly honest thing he’s said, possibly in years. Even if it makes him sound a little bit like an awkward teenager. “That’s all. I just thought...”</p><p>“Mmm…” Her eyes perk up as she looks at him, patiently waiting for him to continue.</p><p>“Maybe I should ask Craddock to assign me somewhere else.”</p><p>“Sick of me?” She asks huskily, a teasing glint in her eyes. Her lips soft and plump, slightly faded berry lipstick smudged all over.</p><p>“Aye, it’s all over now. I’ve got what I came for.” He stretches, a cocky smile on his lips as he looks over at her playfully.</p><p>“Don’t. You. Dare.” She swings a leg over him and straddles his waist. Lingering quietly on top. Begging him with trustful eyes and a muted smile awaiting on her lips. She knows. Of course she knew. <i>“Ask me.”</i></p><p>“I think we should tell. You could be mine. My... girlfriend, my partner, whatever you want to call it.” He nuzzles her nose. Pressing a chaste kiss on her mouth before he lays his heart out there for her to take. If she wants it. “Because I want to be yours. Outside of this room too.”</p><p>“Haven’t scared you away yet?” The slightest hint of a smirk makes it appearance on her lips.</p><p>“No. And you won’t.” </p><p>
  <i>She could never. Though heaven knows they’ve both unwittingly done their best to try.</i>
</p><p>“You should call Craddock. Tell her if she doesn’t assign you somewhere interesting... your girlfriend will have something to say about it.” Julia sighs pointedly. So she doesn’t say yes, or no, but that said all he wants to hear. He hasn’t had a <i>girlfriend</i> for about 12 years. It even sounds odd coming off her lips. Though not… uncomfortably so. </p><p>She curls into the crook of his arm again. Pulling herself closer.  A slinky hand wraps around his waist, lips ghosting along his jaw.</p><p>“Do you think they’ll suspect when we start seeing each other officially?” He obviously assumes the answer is yes, they’d be idiots not to. But considering the way her hand wraps in his, he doesn’t much care.</p><p>“Probably.” She says quietly as he kisses the tips of her fingers.</p><p>“Do you care?” She takes a deep breath. She should care, he knows that. Both their reputations are on the line. But he also knows what his answer would be.</p><p>“Not really.”</p><p> </p><p>Two half empty glasses of wine reside on the side table next to a cell phone that’s thankfully turned off for once. She never does that. No, Julia is always available. Always answering those fucking calls from the human equivalent to milky water, her minion-like assistant Rob. David wonders for just a second if Rob’s hair might be falling off already at the stress of not reaching his boss for the duration of one whole evening.</p><p>“Say it again.” He whispers softly.</p><p>“I already did.” She smiles furtively. “In <i>two</i> languages.” So that’s what that meant before. He really does not know any French.</p><p>He’s made another white bubble from the sheets. </p><p>Happy cocooned in there with his half-asleep… whatever she is now. His half-asleep Julia. Oh, the amount of times he’s almost called her Julia outside of these four walls… Now he won’t have to think about what he calls her, or whether or not it’s inappropriate to guide her out with his hand firmly on her back. As he so often wants to. It’ll be strange to not fall two steps behind with a respectful ‘Yes, ma’am’ at the ready whenever she speaks. But… he also can’t help but imagine waking up in the perfectly lovely bedroom he saw on his security checks, back when she was still allowed in her flat.</p><p>“Is that all you say to me in French? Secret little love messages? Do you even speak French?” He teases lightly, kissing her forehead while she strokes his arm lovingly.</p><p>“Sometimes. Sometimes I curse your inability to pick things off the floor or follow my orders.” He pretends to roll his eyes and rolls over, taking the white sheet down with him. Their protective cloth bubble suddenly gone, but less stifled air making it far more comfortable to breathe. He makes himself comfortable on his front, beating his pillow into submission until it forms the shape he wanted.</p><p>“Say something else.”</p><p>“You say something.” She’s so close he can feel her breath. “In French.”</p><p>“Voulez vous coucher avec moi?” He kisses her and swallows the surprised giggle that escapes her. “That’s all I really know. Aye, you already did that.”</p><p>“And do you say that to all the women you fuck in hotel rooms for months on end?” She asks smugly.</p><p>“Just the special, special ones.”</p><p>“Special, special?”</p><p>“Aye. I meant it enough to say it twice.” Her lips curl in an easy smile at his words. Her eyes close and she takes a deep breath as she leans in for a kiss. Letting her lips rest against hers for several seconds until she withdraws back to her own pillow with a satiated sigh. Julia closes her eyes and David’s heart fills with thankfulness at the sight of her messy curls and plump lips. <i>“Turadh.”</i></p><p>“A what?” </p><p>“It’s Scottish. It means… an opening between two storms, I think. At least that’s what my granny used to say. <i>‘Look Davey, there’s a turadh.’</i>” He scoffs a bit at his own attempt to mimic his grandmother’s voice. “The past year has been hard. And it won’t be all sunshine and rainbows anytime soon. But <i>turadh</i> is the breathing room in the middle. You’re a turadh.” </p><p>He can’t tell if she fully understands what he means, or the gratitude with which he means it. But she looks content as she gives him a quick kiss goodnight and closes her eyes as he turns the last light off.</p><p>He drifts in and out of sleep as the next hour passes by, glancing over at her sleeping peacefully. Gently stroking the hand that rests on his pillow before he drifts off again. </p><p>It’s not perfect. None of it is. He doesn’t sleep nearly enough, they both lie, there seems to be incurable madness all around them. But, they are who they are. What they are. </p><p>They’ve weathered some storms, and another one surely awaits. But for now, he has a turadh.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Julia's French response translation: "I know what you want to say. Just ask me, you idiot."</p></blockquote></div></div>
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